"vanishing languages, reincarnated as music"
the NYT headline read in april,;in april you were the bride
of language something happened to poetry
wept inside I'm
not reading the article, off in wondering
not at the clouds, at vanishing languages.
oh who can recall them if the poets stop
trying to see from a filmy window the filmy
trees of april the incarnations of music residing there or
long gone by ah poetry you are vanishing
more each day who will sweep away
the snows of accumulating silences
how silences have accumulated since
your reported demise, my poetry, my music
my sadness intertwined with those who went before:
the last through the golden door till wars and bitterness
interposed a modern rendition of the tongue cut sparrows.
my dilemma, oh wounds have no words for you but
must make do with
this accumulation of noise, these factories of the
prefabricated Word
oh cantatas of nothingness gathering force each day.
down to the marrow they have pared you now my apple
my shining pear I have lost you everywhere though
music, was, is, shall be
in the orchards so far from us still-
still blossoming- still dreamed:
pearled, spilling into vast streams
mary angela douglas 3 april 2016
the NYT headline read in april,;in april you were the bride
of language something happened to poetry
wept inside I'm
not reading the article, off in wondering
not at the clouds, at vanishing languages.
oh who can recall them if the poets stop
trying to see from a filmy window the filmy
trees of april the incarnations of music residing there or
long gone by ah poetry you are vanishing
more each day who will sweep away
the snows of accumulating silences
how silences have accumulated since
your reported demise, my poetry, my music
my sadness intertwined with those who went before:
the last through the golden door till wars and bitterness
interposed a modern rendition of the tongue cut sparrows.
my dilemma, oh wounds have no words for you but
must make do with
this accumulation of noise, these factories of the
prefabricated Word
oh cantatas of nothingness gathering force each day.
down to the marrow they have pared you now my apple
my shining pear I have lost you everywhere though
music, was, is, shall be
in the orchards so far from us still-
still blossoming- still dreamed:
pearled, spilling into vast streams
mary angela douglas 3 april 2016
